


why are phone calls so difficult?

by GayKravitz



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AU, Actually set in the 80s despite this, Fanwork of a Fanwork, Ford has a tumblr, Gen, Inspired, Paranoid Ford, Phone Calls, WhatWouldTeslaDo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 21:59:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15349647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayKravitz/pseuds/GayKravitz
Summary: alt title: ford actually cares about his brother??? fucking wild amirightBased on the whatwouldteslado blog on tumblr, which is run by the lovely Fordanoia. Very good blog based on a very fun concept with a very interesting story. I love me some paranoid Ford.





	why are phone calls so difficult?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fordanoia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fordanoia/gifts).



> seriously u will need to have read this to know what ford is talking abt at some points
> 
> whatwouldteslado.tumblr.com

Stanford clenches his jaw and squares his shoulders back. He could do this. This was nothing compared to what he’s been through already. He was Stanford Pines, the man who was going to change the world. The words had bitterness that followed now, yes, but who’s said that he couldn’t still do that? Even without the portal, and without him, he could- would still keep going after this whole debacle was solved.

And it can be solved with a single, simple phone call. Easy.

Ford sets his hand on the receiver and exhales heavily. It’s freezing out, snow piling on the sidewalks and roads around town, and he hunched over and pulled his trench coat tighter to his body. Cold sapped energy like nothing else, and he couldn’t afford to spend anymore than needed. He needs to make it another few days until the music store opened and he could hopefully end his deal with the simplest solution someone had given him.

(Ford was almost annoyed that he hadn’t thought about listening to a song called “Time” to the end, thus cancelling out his deal. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but he was sure that Bill wasn’t sure either.)

Ford rolls a couple quarters into the payphone, but hesitated. Should he? A letter would be slower, yes, but… would he be able to say what he needed to over the phone? Would he even pick up?

Of course he would, Ford reasons to himself. There’s absolutely no reason he wouldn’t pick up. Ma had given him the number just a few days (weeks?) ago. There's no way he wouldn’t pick up, he might think it was their mother. He’s always been a mama’s boy, Ford remembers.

Ford bites the inside of his cheeks and shakes his head. Stop stalling. Just call. Just type in the number and call him.

Ford takes a deep breath and does that. He punches in the number. He holds the receiver to his ear. He listens to it ring, almost long enough for him to give up hope that he would answer, but he picks up. Of course he does.

“Ugh… Hello? Who is it?”

Ford freezes. He sounds almost exactly the same. Ten years and he can recognize his brother’s voice in an instant.

“Uh, hello?”

He hangs up. Ford doesn’t say a word, he just hangs up the phone, his hand lingering on the receiver. He blinks, staring directly at the number pad on the phone booth. Why had he done that?

Ford groans and stuffs his hand into his pocket, fumbling with the small device that Fiddleford had left behind and he had taken over for his own log. He types something out, an update that he had hung up and gets an influx of messages after he does. Why anyone kept up so avidly with this blog of his was beyond him, but he was somewhat grateful for the help they sometimes gave. Though sometimes the anonymous users were more of a nuisance, really.

He takes a moment to come up with a script with help from his… he hesitates to say followers, but that was it, wasn’t it? Followers. Like some sort of cult. 

He shudders and ignores the stray thought, going through the messages one by one. Most of them saying ‘Tell him this’ or ‘Do that’, one of them forgoing the anonymity feature to even say that he was clinging to his brother. (Clinging?! They hadn’t spoken in 10 years!) He huffs in frustration but also ignores it mostly. He needs to focus.

He comes up with a manageable script to follow, not giving too many details in case someone were listening but also not too little so as to dissuade  _ him _ from actually listening. Ford knew all too well how poor Stan was at listening to him.

Ford clicks the device off and put it away. He eyes the payphone again warily, but takes another deep breath before doing it over again. Money, number, wait. 

Stanley picks up quicker this time, much to Ford’s chagrin and relief.

“Hey, you actually gonna talk this time?”

Ford almost hangs up again, but instead of instinctually setting the phone back he bites his tongue before spitting out the words he planned.

“Are you okay?”

That was definitely not what he planned to say. Ford felt his heart thud against his chest a couple times before he breathed deeply and forced it to calm. Getting worked up won’t help. 

The line is silent for a long time before Stan speaks up again.

“F- Stanford?” He asks, but Ford knows he knows. It’s rhetorical. “What are you-?”

“Answer the question, Stanley.” Ford interrupts, already exasperated.

“Uh.” Stan says, hesitating. “Ye-Yeah. I’m- I’m fine. Why’re you asking? Actually, why’re you calling?”

Ford exhales sharply through his nose. “I’m- Stanley, you need to be careful.” There, now he’s getting back on track with his plan!

“Ford, what’re you talkin’ about? You okay?” Stan says and he can hear something else in his voice besides confusion. He can’t place it for the life of him, but it sets him on his toes.

“I’m-! Fine. I’m fine.” He pauses, running a hand through his hair. Now or never, Stanford. “Can you come up here? To Oregon, I mean. I’m sure Ma has told you where I’ve been living.”

He hears something shift on the other line. “She- yeah, she mentioned you livin’ out there to study weird science junk. Nice job on the PhD, by the way.”

Ford bites back his  _ ‘I have four, now, actually, and no thanks to you-‘ _ and just pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s important that you come up here. Quickly.”

Stan stays silent as he apparently mulls this over. “Yeah. Okay, sure, I can come up to see you. Are you gonna tell me  _ why _ it’s so important that I come?”

Ford sighs a silent breath of relief at his brother’s compliance. “Not yet. Not here.”

Stan sighs into the phone. “Alright, Ford.  _ Fine. _ See ya.” He can hear Stan move to end the call, and he panics. His brother had sounded  _ annoyed _ . Annoyed with Ford.

“ _ Wait _ !” He shouts, catching the attention of a passerby. He glares until they keep walking and goes back to the call. “Wait.”

“ _ What _ ?” Stan asks, and Ford’s words catch in his throat for a second. Stan notices the hesitation. “Ford, you’re acting like Ma when she’s on her tenth cup of coffee. What is goin’  _ on _ ?”

“Just- promise you’ll be careful, Stan.” He says quietly.

“‘Course I will.” Stan answers, equally as quiet before coming back louder. “When am I not?”

Ford smiles without realizing, not remembering any time where Stan was ever careful. His brother has always been loud, brash, and reckless. Ever since they were but kids, Stan was getting himself into trouble everywhere they went. From picking fights with older kids on the playground to trying to sneak out during their high school days. Ford had always been right there with him, though.

“Sixer?”

The nickname draws him out of reminiscing with a sharp gasp, tensing up and looking through the corners of his eyes. His hand tightened almost painfully around the phone handle and he grit his teeth. Right. Right! He couldn’t be sitting here, thinking about the past! Bill could be with Stan right now and Stan could be none the wiser. It wasn’t safe. He wasn’t safe.

“Stanley, listen very carefully.” He whispers into the receiver, cupping a hand around his mouth in case someone was watching. He could almost feel the itch of eyes on his back and he turned around, trying to catch whoever was trying to. The street was empty.

“I’m listening, Ford. What?”

Ford’s brows furrow as he wracks his brain on what to say. “Stan, you need to watch out for people with yellow eyes. Glowing, yellow eyes. Understand?”

“Wait, what? Ford, what the hell’s goin’ on?”

“Just get here as soon as possible. It’s imperative.” With that, Ford hangs up, not letting Stanley get a word in after.

Ford hesitates for a second before letting go. Stan was safe, he was coming up in the next few days. He just needed to wait. Patience was all he needed now, besides dismantling the portal further.

Ford rubs at his scruffy cheek and turns to look at the diner. A cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt, especially not after that conversation. Plus, he would be able to get more to help him stay awake. He draws his coat closer to him, hiding in the collar as he trudges through the snow towards the diner.

Stanley is going to be fine.


End file.
